Coffee
by Silver Bones in a Green Sauce
Summary: Sequel to God Loves You, Clyde Donovan. It's Tweek's turn to be won over. Hints of slash.


Unlike their usual routine for getting high, they weren't in Token's bedroom; they were sitting on the back of Clyde's truck, Stark's Pond in front of them. It was close to midnight, the sky turning black hours before, so it was safe to say that they were alone; the only sounds to be heard other than their own voices were the wind and the music coming from the truck's radio. The light from the inside of the truck was illuminating snatches of their bodies, and it would have been a perfect setting for telling ghost stories, had they not been discussing a different, though equally dark, matter—if they would ever be willing to die to save their town.

"The whole down?I wouldn't do it. _DIE? _Oh man, that is way too much pressure!"

No one was surprised by Tweek's answer. The blonde, who was shaking more than usual because of the temperature, took the joint from Craig when it was offered to him before taking a hit and passing it on to Clyde. They were huddled closely together in a circle to get extra warmth that their jackets couldn't provide, but as his hands shook, he felt it wasn't enough; he was about to plead for them to find somewhere warmer—or, preferably, for Clyde to take him _home—_when, to his surprise, a hand found its way around his own. He jumped, letting out a shout, but it was ignored; the other boys were used to his loud behavior. Muttering "oh God" repeatedly, he glanced down; he didn't stop shaking completely—he rarely ever did—but what he saw calmed him the tiniest bit; instead of a monster, it was Pip's hand holding onto him. The other blonde had noticed him shaking, had felt the coldness in his own bones, and had taken his hand in an attempt to warm him even the tiniest bit. Was he supposed to entwine their fingers? Did Pip want him to press closer? He didn't know, and it was _way_ too much pressure; he didn't want to even think about it.

"I wouldn't do it."

Clyde's answer didn't come as a surprise to anyone either. After taking a hit from the joint, he passed it on to Token.

"I don't think I would either. I mean, maybe, but if it actually meant dying? I don't know."

Tweek wasn't listening to the discussion; Pip was smiling at him, telling him quietly, so that he didn't disrupt the other conversation, that it would okay, they would warm up quickly enough if they stayed close together. Did the boy actually _want _to be close to him? Was his scent addictive? He surely smelt like coffee, and coffee could be addictive—not that he couldn't give it up at any time, but it did smell good, so he could understand why someone else would have a problem. He didn't _want _Pip addicted to him though. It would be _way_ too much pressure! He didn't even know what the boy was _talking _about a good deal of the time. Besides, even if Pip _was_ becoming addicted, he was pretty sure the Brit preferred tea to coffee.

"ACK!"

He didn't _like _tea; it was too sweet. How was he supposed to live with a tea drinker? What if Pip attached himself to his side? What if they had to share a _bed_? Or a _shower_? What if Pip tried to share his _thermos_? He would get AIDS or something!

"GAH!"

Again, Tweek's cries went ignored—mostly. Pip, in an attempt to comfort his friend, wrapped his free hand around Tweek's.

"There there, old chap."

And now he looked _old_?

"Oh man!"

What if Pip replaced all of his coffee with _tea_ and he couldn't get out of bed to swap the liquid back because of AIDS confining him there, so he was just _stuck _with tea? And Pip would still cling to him and try to bath him and probably eat his parents because British people liked nasty food because they didn't have taste buds and living with Pip was going to make _him_ lose his taste buds.

"Oh_man_!"

Their knees were touching now. Pip was trying to _mold them together already,_ wasn't he?

More shaking, more crying out, more touching.

"Didn't you two pretend to be heroes with Cartman a few times? I told you not to fool with him. I bet he took money from you somehow."

Craig took a hit from the joint; it was his turn.

"I definitely wouldn't do it."

Pip was the only one who had yet to answer; he took the offered joint from Craig, their fingers touching as it was passed. Though he wasn't shaking or stuttering, his skin had been cold; he had forgotten his gloves. Pip felt sympathy but said nothing, knowing that the group's leader wouldn't appreciate it; Pip had always figured Craig to be the type to have cold skin anyway. He took a hit from the joint, used to the feel of it against his lips by now, and wasted no time trying to think of his answer—he had known it the minute the question had been asked.

"Heavens, I would do it. I wouldn't want our little town to be smashed to bits."

The final answer to the question hadn't come as a surprise either; the boy was kind, and self-sacrifice would come as a second nature to him if it meant keeping someone else happy. Of course, it was all hypothetical; the sweet, brave British boy would never _really _need to die trying to save the town.

"You'd make a lousy superhero."

"Yeah, you'd die in, like, eleven seconds."

"I don't know. I think he could do it."

"He'd have to since you guys wouldn't."

"You wouldn't either."

"Nope."

"Ack!"

"That's what he should be next Halloween."

"I thought we agreed we'd make him into a chick?"

"You just want to see him in a skirt."

"He'd have tights on either way, if that's what you were interested in."

"You guys are the ones who are fags for him."

"He could be a female superhero."

"No way. Those aren't cool."

"You'll think he's hot either way."

"No I won't."

"So just in the dress?"

"You know what I mean."

"Superheroes _are_ in lately."

"Halloween is still months away."

"Yeah, but maybe—"

"They'll be out by then."

"We never asked what _he _would want to be."

"Well, I—"

"He doesn't care."

"You just cut him off."

"It's fin—"

"See? He thinks it's fine."

"What about Sailor Moon?"

"His hair isn't long enough."

"_Gah_!"

"We could get him a wig."

"I've never heard of this 'Sailor Moon'. Is it an American thing?"

"It's some weird cartoon our sisters watch. It's about girls lezzing out or something."

"It is not."

"How would you know?"

"Because I've—"

"He could pull off Sailor Venus."

"Craig thinks you're like the pretty one. You should run."

"You just called her pretty."

"She's _supposed _to be pretty."

"I think Craig is rather pretty, as well."

Awkward silence before. . .

"I DON'T WANT TO HAVE AIDS!"

Tweek's scream finally caught the attention of everybody in the truck, but he didn't notice—he was up and jumping off of the vehicle before they could shake off their shock; it wore off of most of them before the blonde was even out of their limited range of sight.

"Should we—should we go see if he's going to be all right?"

Again, awkward silence; still though, no one made a move to follow after the twitchy run-away.

". . . No. We're not _too _far from his house . . ."

They sat in silence for a bit longer, the chatty mood chased away by the scream. They scooted a bit closer; with Tweek left Pip's extra body heat, and he found himself reaching for Craig's hand, not realizing that doing the same to Tweek had been what scared the boy off.

"I do hope he'll be a-okay."

Craig's fingers were still cold, but Pip tried to not let it bother him. He didn't notice the dark-haired boy's gaze slide down to where the Brit had laced their fingers together, nor did he notice Clyde's doing the same. He noticed contact; he noticed, quite happily, that Craig wasn't moving his hand away, and, to his surprise, Clyde had thrown an arm around his shoulders. He would be warm in no time, he was sure.

"I wouldn't worry about it."

Clyde's breath was warm against his neck; the boy was closer than he had realized.

"He probably just got freaked out because of the death talk."

Craig's fingers were calloused. He wondered if they could get that way from riding a bicycle.

"Yeah. Someone will call him tomorrow to make sure he made it home."

Clyde smelt of Old Spice and some type of food—cheeseburgers, maybe? They _had _ate earlier. . .

"Has this happened before?"

Craig's nails weren't exactly _sharp_, but he didn't bite them either.

"Him running off? Yeah."

He would buy Clyde a bag of Doritos later. Maybe the boy would share them. . .

"We're kind of used to it by now."

Craig's jacket seemed thinner than Clyde's Letterman jacket. He wondered if the football player would be offended terribly if he moved closer to the other boy. He hoped not; Clyde had been ignoring him since their moment in the theatre bathroom, and he didn't want to ruin whatever had made his friend decide to accept him—because, surely, that's what the arm around his shoulder meant, right?—again. Craig seemed cold though and he figured Clyde had just needed time to work out what had happened between them, so he tried it.

He didn't scoot more than an inch before Clyde, who saw what he was doing but didn't comprehend _why—_and fuck, no, he wasn't _jealous_ that Pip would rather sit by Craig; he just didn't want his friend to be leached on by some faggy boy—slid his arm from Pip's shoulders to his waist, trapping him there. He hoped Craig was grateful for the save because he really didn't like the way Pip felt against his side or the way the boy smelt.

Nope.

Not at all.

He didn't want to fuck the boy anymore either.

Nope.

Denial was nice, though it would never last.

"I'm just surprised it didn't happen sooner."

"Oh, I see."

They were quiet once more, the music still going on in the background.

"So, Sailor Venus?"

"That idea sucks."

"I think we should do _Harry Potter_ again."

"No way. I didn't even want to do it the last time."

"It does lack originality."

"So do superheroes."

"But they're pop—"

"They won't be by the time Halloween rolls around again."

"He's right."

"Why do we have to decide this right now? Shouldn't we wait?"

"No. We need to plan it out so it's perfect."

"I like. . ."

Pip wasn't listening to the other boys as they spoke. He was running his fingers over the thermos that had been dropped as Tweek escaped from whatever demons had been chasing him at the time. He couldn't recall ever seeing the boy without it, and it caused his worry to intensify. He hoped his friend was okay. . . He made up his mind then; he would go check on Tweek when the sun came up.

PP/TT/CT/CD/TB

It was rather impressive of his friend to have a job, he thought, even though it was one given to him by his father; the fact that the coffee shop Tweek worked at was owned by his family just made it more special.

Pip had decided the night before to take the thermos back to Tweek on his shift at the shop. It would be splendid to see his friend help the community, and a pastry never hurt anyone. He was rather excited about it, though when Tweek saw who was at the counter waiting for their order to be taken, he obviously didn't feel the same way. Pip didn't let it bother him; he was sure that he was just reminding the boy of whatever had bothered him the previous night, that the jump his appearance caused was nothing personal. Besides, the apron Tweek was wearing made him look rather lovely, like a—what had the chaps called it?—like a Sailor Venus, though he was sure "cute" described the twitching blonde more than "pretty." Either way though, the sight made the trip worth it, and he couldn't stop smiling—though, being able to see his friend at all, flattering apron or not, would have made the trip worth it in his opinion.

"What are you doing here? Gah!"

The blonde behind the counter was looking around frantically, acting as if someone was going to jump out and kill him at any second. Pip knew that in his mind, he probably thought that was the case; his respect for his friend, who came into work despite his paranoia, grew.

"I wanted to bring you this. You left it last night."

Pip held out the thermos, and Tweek's eyes immediately drew to it; he was sure Pip was trying to stab him or something. As he realized what the Brit was holding though, relief flooded through him. Still, he didn't take it. He didn't want AIDS, after all.

"You didn't drink out of it, did you? Ack!"

"No, of course not. I doubt you would appreciate it very much if I had."

He didn't know if he could trust the boy. Token did, but his trust was easy to gain. Clyde seemed like he did—and sometimes he didn't; it made Tweek nervous, made him want to smack the thermos away. Craig trusted Pip though, and Craig didn't trust many people.

"Thanks."

He took it from the other blonde, who seemed very pleased—suspicious. He would make sure to wash it out later just in case. And then again and again and again. But what if he did it so many times his fingers bled? That would be _way _too much pressure, and he wouldn't be able to—

"May I have a cup of coffee? With lots of milk and sugar, please? And perhaps a dollop of honey?"

His paranoid thoughts, which were always racing, came to a sudden stop. Coffee. Pip wanted him to sweeten it—his teeth would rot out—but he was ordering coffee. Though he didn't agree with it, they _did _have tea on the menu. But Pip wanted coffee.

"And a pastry too, please? That one there, the one in the corner on top, if you wouldn't mind terribly."

Pip was pointing to a pastry in the glass counter—who picked out their food like that? There had to be something wrong with him—but Tweek wasn't looking at it.

"You want coffee?"

Looking away from whatever he had been requesting, Pip made eye-contact with him. He was still smiling.

"Of course. What better way to start your day?"

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all, Tweek decided.


End file.
